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+—---------------------------------------------------------------------+ It was cold and dark, the rain fell in torrents against the poorly maintained roofs of the town. The ground was slick with frigid rainwater, muddy and swamp-like, the soft thump of boots echoing audibly down the alleyway breaking the man from his train of thought. The soldier perked his gaze upward towards the approaching figure, a fuzzy outline of what appeared to be a man stared back at him, lumbering back and forth as he seemed to trudge uneasily through the muck. The night only grew darker as the courier approached, the soft flicker of the candle within his gloved hand wavering beneath the violent whips of the wind. From across the space between them, muffled beneath the constant downpour, a low voice emerged from behind the cloth coated messenger, the dull reflection of struggling fire shimmering in his eyes. “They’ve sent for you, you know? They want you back.” Came the gravelly murmur, the figure still swaying from side to side as it spoke. The veteran felt his fingers curl into his palms, pressure turning his knuckles white as he gazed upon the future he had tried so hard to run from. Sweat began to form upon his brow, congealing with the droplets of rain as it ran down his face, indistinguishable from the rest of the flowing liquid. Choking out words, he sputtered out a response. “I know, of course I know. And I want you to tell the-” His speech disappeared into a soft mumbling as the wind roared forward from above the buildings, rattling the very frame of the rotting constructions with thunderous sound. Stumbling slightly he opened his mouth to speak once more, quickly silenced by the voice across from him. “Tell them what? That you’re hiding from your duty? That you’re camped out here in the rain and sleet, muttering to yourself like a coward?” The jagged insults bit into him like a rabid dog, tearing at his confidence until nothing was left but the mauled scraps of an assuredness that once was raging within him. He could feel it now, the queasy nausea building in his gut as he felt the aggressive glare melt from his face, replaced with only subdued panic. “Exactly, come to the place where we embarrassed their finest, there you will find the rest.” Words fluttered from the concealed face of the courier as it spun to turn it’s back toward the old man, trotting away into the furious rage of the wind with nothing but the muffled sound of his mud soaked boots. Alone he stood, the uncomfortable itch spreading slowly across his stagnant body as he struggled to decide his next course of action. The rain only increased in its ferocity, now loudly beating upon the ramshackle roofs as more water began to tumble down upon him, his focus wavering as it did so. In his mind there were only two options, they would come for him in the morning and take his skull, or he would go to them, and pledge his heart once more to the cause. As he stepped forward, uncrossing his arms from across his chest, he could feel the air once more enter his lungs, breath finally exhaled to the relief of his torso. He saw there, upon the ground, a missive left for him by the courier, bright golden lettering dulled by the weather, its symbol crooked. +—------------------------------------------------------------------+ A SUMMON FROM THE BRIGADA Dictated by the powers of the Garrison present at the step of a great triumph, a call rings true to all the son’s and daughter’s of our beloved Mother. To report to the place of a great triumph, promptly, is not only your duty as soldiers, but your duty as men of true devotion to our cause. Dispersed, discarded, we call out to you, return to your family. Return to your brother’s and sister’s, embrace them with the truth of our people. Viva Mercatorii +—------------------------------------------------------------------+ Many of these missives are spread across the far reaches of Almaris, stuffed into the folds of mailboxes and jammed beneath the lids of barrels they sit as a reminder of a specter thought long dead.
